


i prefer you over chocolate

by gaytoxe



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (im not good at tags), Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day, pregame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22712941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytoxe/pseuds/gaytoxe
Summary: Momota gathers the courage in his soul and quietly rummages through his bag until the smooth surface of his box reaches his fingertips, curling around its body and slipping it behind his back, fiddling with the edges of the lid and the gold thread of the satin ribbon. “Ouma,” Momota finally breaks the peaceful silence, watching his eyes settle on his.“Oh? Are you finally going to say Happy Valentine’s Day to me, Momota-chan?” he chirps, grinning innocently at him. Momota scoffs lightheartedly, his words easing his slightly quivering hands.
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 84





	i prefer you over chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> if you like this fic, you can find me at gaytoxe on tumblr! kudos and comments are appreciated!

Momota’s hands fiddle with the ribbon, attempting to knot the fabric without writing panic all over it. He unties and reties it, not even sure what a good ribbon is supposed to look like, unsure if the red satin is really worn or if his eyes are playing tricks on him. It’s only a box of chocolates, but they’re chocolates for Ouma, and his grandmother spent hours yesterday helping him prepare them. 

His grandmother is the one that stops him from endlessly wearing down the fabric, ties the ribbon, and hands the box of chocolates to him. “Don’t be late,” she scolds him, pushing him out the door. “No girlfriend likes a lazy man. You’re the man of the house now! Now, off you go! Don’t make her wait.” 

Momota almost cringes at the word girlfriend, but he says, “Yes, ma’am,” and trudges down the road to school, her words lingering in his head longer than he wished for them to. 

Man of the house. That’s all his grandparents call him now that his parents have passed away, and while he’s not sure if he wants that title, he pushes on anyway, knowing that he wants to make them proud and figuring that’s enough.

At first, it was only a title. Man of the house. He even considered it a compliment, the way his grandparents told him and encouraged him, motivated him to keep moving forward and not to dwell on the past. To become a successful man, equipped with a wife and the bright future they always wished for him.

A name as light as a feather grew heavier and heavier, angrily forcing itself down onto Momota’s shoulders, reminding him that every mistake he’ll ever make will shove him farther and farther from ever reaching that title, even though he’s the one that first fed it so much power and allowed it to thrive in the back of his brain in to a seemingly innocently smelling violet bloom.

The words that built the pedestal his very feet stand on slowly grow vines and moss at the roots, hungrily crawling up the sides desperately to infect him and dig its roots into his skin, showing him every mishap and slip-up he’s ever made and will make in the future, masked by a sweet-smelling hydrangea, its beautiful petals distracting him, his eyes captured by the leaves dripping with a honey scent that envelops him in a false sense of responsibility that he is required to uphold.

But he doesn’t dwell on it, doesn’t allow himself to dive into it, content with believing it’s nothing more than honeysuckle leaves.

The sun grins at him behind the trees, ready to show its forever burning soul to the universe, whether it’s hiding in the blanket of darkness or giving hope to the blue skies above, and every time, Momota’s desire to dash down the streets and allow the warmth that fuels his soul guide him every step of the way, refusing to give in even when his lungs are screaming for air and his legs burn with an unignorable flame. Giving Ouma the box of chocolates he spent hours only tosses another match into the fire, his mind swirling with play-by-plays on how it could turn out.

But he doesn’t care about the outcomes or what could go wrong, the desire to leap without thinking growing ever so tempting, so he dashes down the road, letting the energy sparking and surging throughout his whole body carry him through each step, leaving a trail of stars with an everlasting burn behind him.

-

Momota’s soul almost leaps out of his skin when Ouma taps his shoulder in the hallway.

“Whatcha got there, Momota-chan?” his name slips from his lips like honey, a melody that never grows old with each time he hears it, a dance of the tongue that softens his body enough to melt his smooth, chocolate outside and resonate with the sentimental caramel in the middle, setting it ablaze as if to burn it. The burning sun outstretches its reach beyond the clear panes of glass, illuminating Ouma’s pale skin and lips curled into a grin of curiosity, eyes fixated on the pearly pink box wrapped neatly with a crimson bow laced with gold seems carefully cradled in Momota’s hands.

“It’s—” Momota averts his gaze and swallows the nervousness lodged in his throat, attempting to maintain composure as he shoves the chocolates behind his back before Ouma can give the box another speculation— “—nothing.”

“Is that honmei choco?” he questions, leaning to pop his head over Momota’s shoulder, bag slipping off his shoulder and sliding down to the crease of his elbow. “For a certain special someone?” he teases, eyes narrowing with mischief.

Before Momota can respond, Saihara’s voice echoes off the walls, allowing him an escape from answering with an even worse lie than he previously told, quickly sputtering, “W-Well, Shuichi’s calling me!,” and dashing off to join him, disappearing in the scattered mix of students filling the halls.

It could have played out worse, he thinks, but he knows that Ouma is aware of exactly what the box he delicately grips in his hands, and he immediately refutes it.

-

Ouma gazes out at the water, eyes fixated on a plum blossom’s petal delicately fluttering to brush against the water, tiny ripples echoing through the body of it, and while the gentle pink floating down the river and beneath the belly of the bridge dazzles him each time he watches one bid farewell to its branch, Momota stares at him, admiring the gentle kisses of warmth the sun places on his skin accompanied by quiet shades of purple and magenta and the gentle rustle of his curled hair when a wisped breeze passes by.

Despite seeing the same features a million times, each one is undeniably beautiful and only feeds the warmth and fondness that follows, ending up even stronger than the last, and he sees no issue, because falling further and further into the depths of love for him is not a terrible fate in the slightest.

Momota gathers the courage in his soul and quietly rummages through his bag until the smooth surface of his box reaches his fingertips, curling around its body and slipping it behind his back, fiddling with the edges of the lid and the gold thread of the satin ribbon. “Ouma,” Momota finally breaks the peaceful silence, watching his eyes settle on his. 

“Oh? Are you finally going to say Happy Valentine’s Day to me, Momota-chan?” he chirps, grinning innocently at him. Momota scoffs lightheartedly, his words easing his slightly quivering hands. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Kokichi,” he tells him with a grin, pulling the box out from the shadow of his spine and holding it out to him, hiding the hammering of his heart in his chest. Ouma rests his hands on the box, fingertips brushing against his as he accepts it and lifts the lid ever so slightly.

“So, I was right after all! It is honmei choco,” he hums, removing the lid entirely to examine each little chocolate. Stars form in his eyes, and Momota’s heart slows to a quiet thump. 

He almost doesn’t notice Ouma hold out a crimson box of his own, lips curled into a toothy smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Kaito.” His hands gently raise to take it, eyes softening to shimmer in the sun’s bashful light, allowing Ouma’s icy fingertips to prick his for only a moment as he delicately removes the lid from it.

The chocolates that nestle in their carefully cut spaces are ever so slightly lumped, far from perfect but charming in the way that warms his heart, feeling the love and care radiate from their surfaces more than the small flaws he notices along the way. They’re oddly shaped, but they’re his odd shapes, and that’s all that matters to him. 

“I love them,” he tells him, head raising to meet his eyes, the curl of his lips never wavering in the slightest, roses blooming on his cheeks.

Ouma’s eyes flicker with warmth, and he swivels back to staring at the water, muttering with a tone sweeter to Momota than the highest mountain of sugar, “I love mine, too,” and popping a chocolate into his mouth. “Not bad for homemade, Momota-chan.” 

“How did you—?” 

“You’re always making those star-shaped sandwiches,” he tells him, grinning. “It’s not like I can just forget about them. Not Momota-chan’s elementary school grandma sandwiches.” 

“They’re not grandma sandwiches!” Momota protests, but his smile grows, and he gently places his hand on top of his, embracing the fondness that follows when he feels a reciprocating, gentle squeeze. 

He picks up one of the chocolates from his box and bites into it, allowing the dark chocolate to melt on his tongue and satisfyingly slide down his throat. “Yours aren’t half bad either,” he says, letting Ouma’s head rest against his shoulder, “for lumpy star-shaped chocolates.” 

While Momota isn’t a fan of extremely candied things, Ouma’s kind of sweet that plays at his heart strings and leave him wanting more, isn’t the kind he’ll ever grow tired of, and even though the dark chocolate’s bitterness pokes at his senses, the syrupy candy flavored aftertaste that settles into his tastebuds once Ouma’s lips connect with his and linger near afterwards only reminds him of how much he prefers his sweetness over the chocolate’s; Ouma’s lips ghost over his, gentle breaths tickling his skin the longer they linger. 

So he fills the gap, longing the sappy and syrupy love that tinges his lips and leaves an aftertaste that remains until he tastes it again, loving every second of it.

**Author's Note:**

> ahh, it's valentine's day, and with valentine's day comes oumota! this is part of an AU i've kind of set up for them in pregame, so if it has an interesting enough premise, i might write more of it! i hope this was to your satisfaction.


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